


the young thousands

by DevilishKurumi



Series: the young thousands [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Humans on Alternia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:02:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider.  You are getting wrapped up in some serious trouble, and you don't know what you're going to do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's no actual pairings in this yet. But the eventual sequels will have all that stuff, promise!

            You first meet Karkat Vantas when he comes down into your bar and insults you for thinking that you could get him drunk off of shit like whisky and vodka.  It's his own damned fault for coming to a human bar in the middle of the slums, and you tell him that.  Fuck off, we don't have sopor here.  Not even the fake shit, bro, so don't even ask.  _We don't serve your kind_.

            That last bit makes him fume and spit and snarl, but most importantly, it makes him leave.  You appreciate that part the most.  Trolls are nothing but fucking trouble, wrapped up in thick skin and sharp teeth and nails, and that's not even calling into account whatever their Specibus is.  You don't need that shit around here.

            It's almost four in the morning by the time you close up shop, thinking about how nice it would be if the sun weren't radioactively fucking terrifying, how nice it'd be to have the daytime for humans and leave the trolls to their two-mooned night.  It'd make altercations with idiots easier to avoid, at least.  Maybe not by much, but you'd take it.

            You make it two blocks down the street before Karkat Vantas crashes into you from the alley to your left, knocking you down with a force reserved for oncoming automobiles and trolls running from something bigger and scarier than them.  The alarms go off in your head without you even looking, without a second glance or even more than a sniff to the air, like a wild hoofbeast sensing an oncoming storm.

            " _Drone_ ," Vantas snarls, low under his breath and more scared than he probably means to let on.  You don't know what to do.  They won't go after you, probably, but the way Vantas had been pounding the pavement, it's safe to say that anyone directly around the troll is in for some serious trouble.  If there's one thing your brother taught you, it's to _avoid._   Avoid trolls, avoid drones and most importantly, avoid both of them at the same fucking time.

            It's right about then that you see the bright red gash across Vantas's cheek, and you think for a moment that he'd been out killing a human and gotten some of their blood on himself - but no, that's not it.  He's bleeding red - and not that musty, old-colored red that the lowbloods have.  Serious, honest-to-god, bright fucking red.

            All of these thoughts only take seconds to process, and then you are on your feet, your hand fisted in his shirt, dragging him behind you as you pull him back towards the bar.  You take a sudden left down another alleyway, realizing that the drones will smell you if you get into the bar, the only real solution is water or soap or -

            You kick in the delivery door to your own place and shove Karkat inside.  "Get in," you tell him, pointing to the recuperacoon you've got tucked away back here.  He hesitates, staring at you with too-gray eyes for his age, and you snarl, " _Now!_ "

            He climbs in.  Doesn't take off his clothes or anything, which will make for a pretty shitty dry cleaning bill but at least he'll be alive to pay it.  Hopefully.

            You go to close the door when something large steps into view.  Its shoulders are almost too broad for the doorway, but that's okay because it just walks right through and takes some of the frame with it.  It's black and horrible and it has clicking mandibles and six eyes and _oh fuck oh fuck_.

            "Yo," you say.  Adrenaline is still pounding through your system, your bloodpusher racing.  "What's up?"

            It chitters and in the noise you pick up, "There is a fugitive."  Then, "You own a recuperacoon.  This is illegal under ordinance 23.84.80.  The punishment is-"

            "Death, right?"

            The drone seems confused that you've just cut to his chase, but that's okay.  You like it when they're confused.

            It takes less than a second to pull your sword from your deck, and in that time you are already moving, darting forward, going low ( _remember, little man.  Big guys can't go as low as you can_ ), eyes focused and where is the weak spot on these guys again?

            Right.  The thing rears back and slashes out with a claw, but it's big enough that you can use it to your advantage.  The momentum carries the claw across in a wide arc and you vault over it, rotate your sword in your grip, double-fist that motherfucker and jam the blade straight into the hairline fracture between four of the six eyes, right where they begin molting from once every five sweeps.  This one's big enough, probably been around for three different husks, but now it's screeching and falling and _shit_ -

            You leap back, abandoning your weapon for the moment, and watch as the body falls to the ground.  Shit.  You shouldn't have done that and you know it.  Killing a drone is easier than outwitting one - but it's also so much harder to fucking deal with.  If any others arrive before you can get rid of the body, there won't be a place for you to hide.

            The recuperacoon sloshes and Vantas is now staring at you.

            "You just - you just fucking _killed_ it."

            "Yeah," you say.  You go for your sword, trying to pry it out without damaging the blade.  "I guess I did."

            "Humans can't just _kill_ drones," he insists, clambering out, sopping wet with sopor.  "Only six humans in the _history_ of this planet have ever fucking done what you just did, and I'll bet it took them a lot more time and planning than you took."

            The blade finally slides free and you tuck it back away, turning and shoving your hands into your pockets.  "Only six humans that trolls are ever told about.  It's not _that_ hard for us."

            Which is a lie, but you're going to downplay this one.  You need to.

            "And you _did_ have sopor, you lying sack of shit."

            "Sort of not a big fucking issue right now, bro."

            The wound on Vantas's cheek is mostly healed, and you think that's probably a good thing.  "So, I'm taking it you're not really from around here.  Kind of a hazardous city for a mutated troll to be slumming it up in."

            Vantas looks like you just ran _him_ through with your sword.  You shrug your shoulders and start pulling the drone into the room, kicking the door shut when it's free of the drone's feet.  Sure, there are some holes on either side of it, but at least it's _mostly_ staying up.  It's just one more thing to fix.  "You might want to get out of here," you add.  "I've got a body to deal with."

            "-What are you going to do with it?" Vantas asks, sounding like he really doesn't want to know, but can't resist asking.

            "Drones make for some useful shit, if you know who to talk to.  Which I do.  But that means I've got to make a call, and _that_ means that you probably shouldn't be here in case this dude managed to contact backup."

            Vantas hesitates.  You consider your options.  You're not neck-deep in this shit yet, but you still have put in some effort and you should probably make sure you didn't waste your time and risk being culled just for some dipshit troll.

            If he leaves now, he'll be able to claim ignorance more easily.  Then again, if he leaves now, the drones still out there might get to him for something _other_ than that previously visible gash.

            Ugh.

            You pull out your husktop and set it down on the back of the drone, using it as a makeshift desk.  "If you want to stay, I won't stop you.  Just know that either choice is gonna get you in a shitload of trouble."

            "Yeah, you really think?" Vantas snaps.  Running his hands through his hair, he adds, "I wasn't even supposed to be here.  I should have never come."

            "Yeah, probably not," you say.  Not many people are online right now, but thankfully the one you need _is_.  You doublecheck your encryptions, then send out a ping.  "This isn't really a safe place for guys like you."

            "You don't know the half of it," Vantas mutters, sliding down the wall of the recuperacoon until he's sitting, his knees pulled tight against his chest.  He looks dejected as all fuck, but his eyes are bright and fixed on you, stuck in that adrenaline-pumped state a good chase always puts you in.

 

**TG** : need a favor

**TG** : got a late delivery really taking up space need to get it in a more manageable size

**TG** : you up for a quick trip

**GG** : sure  
  
 **GG** : be there right now

 

            Vantas doesn't look like he expects a human and a dog to suddenly materialize inside of the room.  You're a little perversely pleased to get the one-up on this troll so many times, even if he is just some kind of mutant loser.

            Becquerel snarls and bares his teeth at Vantas, who recoils, a hiss rising in his throat, like a snake and a cat having some kind of crazy troll hatesex.  Jade glances from Vantas to the drone, then shushes Bec with a quick, " _Hush_."  She looks at you, and you try not to look right back at her, even with your sunglasses still on.  "Looks like you've got yourself into a mess, Dave."

            "Sort of."  You shrug.  "Think you can help?"

            Instead of replying, she just looks to her dog.  He's sniffing the corpse, growling here and there, and then he leaps onto its back.  You grab your husktop just before the corpse and the dog disappear in a flash of light.

            "What-"

            Jade turns to look at Vantas, and whatever expression she must be wearing shuts him up good and fast.  She turns back to you.

            "You need to be more careful," she says, and there's real concern in her voice.  "After-"

            "It won't happen again," you say.  She nods and Bec returns.  "Thanks for this, Harley.  Come by at dusk and we'll figure out what to do with it."

            "Make it mid-night, and make sure to get some buyers lined up this time," she says with a wink, and when she pets her dog they disappear all over again.

            You look at the empty room, Vantas crouched against the recuperacoon, and the blood still staining the floor.  It's almost sunrise.

            "You can crash here if you need to," you say.  "It's almost dawn."

            Vantas doesn't respond.

            "Unless you want to get deep fried."

            It looks like the situation is finally catching up with Vantas, who shudders a few times before resting his forehead against his knees.  "This is so fucked up," he says.

            "Yeah, well.  Welcome to Southside, dude.  I'll get you a towel or some shit."

            You wander off to do just that, and try not to think about how really disappointed your brother would be if he were here to see this.


	2. Chapter 2

            It's about two hours after opening that you hear a low growling noise from the back.  "New watchdog," you say to the patrons who actually hear it, checking their drinks before sliding through the door.  You don't like that there's no distance between your delivery room and the bar itself; the recuperacoon makes shit a little difficult, and if you're not careful when opening the door, anyone could see inside.  Thankfully, you're pretty fucking careful about a lot of things.

            Vantas is clambering to his feet, the recuperacoon dripping sopor from its ridged mouth.  He's wearing underwear, which you're not sure is actually a thing trolls normally wear, but it's a good move because now you don't have to get an eyeful of whatever writhing mess of tentacles or teeth or whatever mutant trolls have down south.  "Evening, sleeping beauty," you say, and you can practically see his hackles raise as he directs that growl towards you.  You don't show any fear.  No point in that shit.  Trolls are always fucked up when they wake up, but it passes pretty quick - already his shoulders are relaxing, sloping more, and his eyes seem clearer than just a moment ago.

            "What time is it," he says, and his voice is a hoarse mutter.

            "Eight-thirty.  You slept like a motherfucker."

            Vantas tenses all over again and then shakes his head viciously, sopor splattering the immediate area and nearly getting on you.  He does a full-body shake, like a dog just out of the pool, and you're somewhat surprised to see that he doesn't look for a towel before grabbing his clothes.

            "I shouldn't have stayed here.  This place - it's fucking dangerous, you're fucking insane, you _killed_ -"

            "Wow, shut up before someone fucking hears you," you snap, stepping forward with a finger raised to your lips, "I've got a business going on here.  I don't need you saying shit like that where people can hear you.  Or, you know, saying it at all.  Don't say anything.  It never happened.  We're talking about a thing that doesn't even exist, so we can't actually be talking about it."

            Vantas stares at you.

            "Got it?"

            " _Whatever_."  His baggy jeans stick to his thighs as he buttons them, and you feel a little gross for taking note of that.  He doesn't have a belly-button, which doesn't weird you out nearly as much as the weird way his toes resemble a lizard's.  Just a little, sort of curved, with sharp toe-nails.  You've seen troll feet before, but they never stop being weird looking.

            "The point is that I should have gone back when I had a chance last night.  I have shit to do at home and then you had to go and make my situation nigh un-fucking-livable.  Thanks a fuckton for that, wormbaby, that's exactly what I needed."

            You will never understand slum lingo for humans.  Never.

            "Maybe you should wear a hat or something," you suggest flippantly, "To hide any cuts you might get on your moneymaker there.  Not like your horns would get in the way."

            He snarls as he picks up his shirt.  "Fuck off and die in a fiery inferno populated by every single person you hate."  But the venom is more of a default than anything actually irritated; it sounds more like Vantas is on autopilot, rather than him being actually angry at you.  He pulls on his shirt and glares at you until you lift your eyebrows in a silent question.

            "Never mind," he snaps in response, turning and making for the busted door.  "Get rid of that sopor, it's way too fucking old.  You're going to kill the next troll who gets in there."

            "Maybe that's the point," you say.  He turns his head to stare at you, and for a moment you feel kind of bad because his expression is cornered and, for the briefest flash, kind of terrified.  You realize that it's probably in poor taste to be making fake death threats at a guy who's probably hardwired to look out for actual threats.  "I'll look into it," you say, not emphasizing it like an apology but meaning it all the same.

            Vantas looks unsettled and nonplussed, but at least he leaves before you have to shove him out.

            Thank fucking god that shit's over.  You return to the front and nobody seems to have noticed you were gone for long; people have their own shit to worry about, after all.  They don't worry about the aloof bartender who barely looks old enough to own a business.  They definitely don't worry about him accidentally killing a drone.

            Well, not until they need the parts.

            Speaking of which...

            You step out from behind the bar and head into the gloomiest corner of the room, bringing a tall glowing drink that you only barely understand the composition of.  It's a pretty shitty offering, as far as these things go, but it doesn't matter because the woman sitting in the corner likes the intention more than the gift itself.

            So you set it down and sit across from her.  "Sup."

            She takes the glass and raises a brow as she sips at it, then says, "Hello, dear brother."

            "Harley and I got tangled in a snag last night.  Figuring you might want to help us out, if you're still experimenting with that chucklevoodoo crap."

            Lalonde puts her drink down and folds her hands over the tabletop.  You don't actually like your sister much these days.  She used to be a lot more lively, a lot more... fun, but of course when she started delving into the weird black arts of the highbloods, she got... weird.

            Really weird.

            "Of course.  I'd like the whole thing."

            You frown, raising both eyebrows.  "The _whole_ thing?  What are you gonna do with that much eight ball in your corner pocket?"

            She just smiles and says, "You'll see."

            You don't want to see.  But it doesn't matter - Harley wanted a buyer and out of all your contacts, your sister is the best one to do the buying.  She's just about got more money than the Condescension, after all.

            You forward her the temporary contact information Jade's been using for the last twenty-four hours.  As you stand to leave the table and get back to your station, she reaches out and wraps her hand around your forearm.  Her nails are long and manicured into slight points.

            "I'll repay you by sending fresh sopor."

            "Don't bother.  Not like anyone uses it."

            She smiles, and for a moment her pale eyes look strangely murky.  You feel suddenly, intensely uncomfortable in her presence - more so than usual - and all you want is for her to let go of you.

            "Everyone uses it, dear brother.  For one reason or another."

            She pinches your skin between her nails, then lets go as though it's nothing out of the ordinary for her to act like a fucking psychopath.  Then again, it really isn't.  You wonder why she isn't painting her face or anything yet - isn't that what the highbloods get up to?  Painting their faces and drinking shitty soda and murdering every single person who looks at them wrong?

            You don't look back at her as you make your way back behind the counter.  Even if she hasn't slipped that deep into that bizarre religious bullshit, you don't want to risk being the first person she culls.


	3. Chapter 3

            It's three in the afternoon when you are woken up by the harsh, frantic pounding of someone just outside your hiveblock - someone probably getting deep-fried by the sunlight.  The bitter, sleep-deprived part of you wishes that they'd just die already and save you the walk from your bed to the door, but you know better by now.  In this past sweep, you've dealt with the disappearance of your strange, chucklevoodoo obsessed sister, along with three relocations for Jade and two for yourself, just because of that whole drone incident.  If someone's banging on your door during the day, chances are it has to do with one of those three things.

            Or maybe it's John.  You hope it's John.

            "Hold your fucking hoofbeasts," you grumble as you stagger down the hallway, the blinds pulled tight but some light still shining against the window sills.  It's nice to look at and sometimes you want to go lay out in it, but you remember the sunburn you got when you were three sweeps old and you really don't want to relive that.

            You grab your spare set of shades off of the hall table as you approach the front door, sliding them on and preparing for the still-blinding light outside.  When you open the door, you're startled to find yourself looking directly into those too-gray eyes of Karkat Vantas.  The stupid fucking mutant who got you into this relocating mess in the first place.

            "Hell no," you say, even before you register the obscenely tall, gangly companion hunched by Vantas's side, holding what looks like a tarp over the two of them.  "Get the fuck out of here."

            "Please," he says, and you're startled by how hoarse his voice is.  It doesn't hold the same snap in it that you remember from a sweep ago.  Maybe that's just because Vantas never begged you when you saved his life last time.

            With a drawn out groan, you swing the door open wide and allow him and his companion to enter, hiding behind the wood until they come in and you can slam the door behind them.  You blink away the sunspots in your eyes as they readjust to their usual nocturnal vision, and then stare at the two trolls now standing in your living area.

            Vantas looks taller, sure, but his eyes are still that weird gray that isn't natural for trolls his age and his horns are still dull and short.  Maybe a little more curved, slightly more protruding, but nothing enough to show the passage of time.  The other troll, though - he's got the awkward height and narrow frame of a troll who had a late growth spurt, and his four horns - two small, two large - curve drastically, probably about halfway through their full growth.  His fangs protrude over his lower lip, crooked, and his eyes are blue and red.

            He has yellow stains along the collar of his too-small shirt.

            "What the fuck are you doing here, Vantas?" you ask, pushing your sunglasses up to briefly rub at your eyes, "It's three in the fucking afternoon and I got rid of you almost a sweep ago."

            "Can it, asshole," Vantas replies, still lacking the vehemence you remember, and he turns to his companion.  "Are you okay?"

            "I'm _fine_ ," the troll snaps, scowling.  When he speaks again, you can hear a heavy lisp.  "Stop hassling me.  I'm fine."

            "Hey," you say, stepping forward to get as close between them as you can.  "Great, cool to know you're fine, how about we talk about why the fuck you're here and why... you're _here_."

            "Wow, great interrogation," the tall troll says, and you think he's rolling his eyes.  You can't really tell, given that his sclera and irises are the same fucking color.  Who even has that?

            "Shut the fuck up."

            "Both of you, shut up," Vantas snarls, and _there's_ that vitriol you were expecting.  Actually, now that you're hearing him snap and snarl, you kind of wonder what the fuck he's been doing all this time.  What does a mutant troll do for a whole sweep?  You deserve to know that much.  Especially after you got more sopor for the recuperacoon in the back of your old bar, just because he said you should.  And because of all the shit you went through after killing a drone for him.

            "Vantas," you say, "What the fuck are you doing here, and who is this dingbat?"

            The other troll opens his mouth, but Vantas slaps a hand over his mouth, still staring at you.

            "Look.  I -"  Vantas sighs, dropping his hands to his sides and slumping his shoulders.  "I know you don't actually give a shit about anything that has to do with me, and we didn't even fucking talk for more than a few minutes, but.  You're - the only person I know who's ever taken down a drone.  You're fucking strong, all right?  And smart, because it took me way too fucking long to track you down, and here you are, still fucking alive despite the fact that the drones are probably _still_ looking for you."

            "He never shuts up about that," the taller troll says.

            "I'm flattered."

            " _Shut up,_ both of you."  Vantas pinches the bridge of his nose and tries hard to calm his breathing down.  "Look - I need help.  You're the only meatsack on this entire fucking planet who has any ability to handle a serious situation, other than maybe that creepy human with her weird dog, but I don't know her fucking name, so here we are.  In your hive.  Asking for help."

            You stare at the two of them, standing in the middle of your living area and staring back at you.  Vantas looks tired, and even though he's clearly not showing his age yet, he... does look old.  Older than he should, you guess.  The other troll - there's something weird about him.  The way he's standing with his knees kind of bent, a lurch to his frame that you're not sure he should have - it rubs you the wrong way.

            You realize he's wearing one of Vantas's shirts, the two of them sharing the matching gray symbol.

            "...What do you need?"

            There's a moment where neither troll seems to know what to say - like they expected you to argue more, or something.  You just cross your arms and let the silence stretch.  One of them will break soon enough.

            "A place to stay," the taller troll says.  "For a few days.  That's it."

            "Great," you say, "Hivecrashers.  Just what I need.  I don't have a recuperacoon."

            Vantas shakes his head.  "That's fine.  It's fine."

            "I'm used to not using one," the taller troll says.  Vantas looks to him with an expression you don't quite understand, but it's ignored.

            You run your hands through your hair.  "And _why_ am I supposed to do this?  It's great that I'm a fucking folk hero for you and all, but I'm not really big on getting involved in this bullshit."

            "Fuck you," Vantas snarls, on the offense right out of the gates.  "You're not a folk hero.  You just-"

            " _And_ I also don't know what the fuck you expect me to do.  Why do you even want to stay here?"

            Vantas doesn't respond.

            "Because you can take down a drone and not get caught," the other troll says.

            "Who the fuck even are you, how do you know what I did, and why the fuck did you _tell people about it_ , Vantas?  Didn't I say _not_ to do that?  That it didn't even fucking happen?"

            "My name is Sollux Captor," he says, suddenly straightening up, "And he told me because I needed help and for some dumbshit reason, he thinks you're the one who can keep me out of sight until we can get off planet, or something."

            " _Captor_ ," Vantas snarls.

            "Shut up, K.K. - if we're going to do this, we're going to be thorough."  Captor stares Vantas down until he cowers a little.  He looks back to you, and you feel a little like cowering too.  He's a lot taller than you, and trolls are stronger than humans, so it's not completely unwarranted.  "We're trying to get somewhere where neither of us will be followed.  You know what K.K. is, and I'm..."

            He shifts and chews his lip, and _there's_ that moment of weakness - the moment when you know this guy won't be able to do a fucking thing to stop you if you kick him out right now.  The unease from a moment before is gone.

            "I just need to get out of here."

            You let the silence stretch until Vantas looks about to burst with more expletives.  Only then do you nod.  "Okay.  Crash wherever, I'm going back to bed."

            You leave Vantas and Captor to do whatever the fuck they want - who gives a shit? - and go back to your room.

            You still have no idea what Vantas has been up to this past sweep, but after that bullshit?  Yeah.  You intend to find out.


	4. Chapter 4

            When you wake up four hours later, the sun has almost completely set.  You can smell coffee brewing from your respiteblock, and it rouses you with the sudden realization that you are not alone in your hive.  It takes a few groggy moments of panic before you remember what happened earlier.

            You pull on your jeans, slip on your shades and make your way down the hall.  Vantas is in your kitchen, sorting through jams and grubloaf with the weariness of someone who hasn't slept properly in too long.

            "Good," you say, causing him to jerk and nearly drop a jar of jelly, "You're making yourself right at home.  Just what I like to see out of hivecrashers."

            "Shut up," he says, shifting awkwardly, "I need caffeine."

            "What you need is eight hours in a recuperacoon."  You push past him to get to the coffee, picking out a mug and pouring yourself a full cup.  "I have one, still.  At the bar."

            "That place has been closed for half a sweep," he says.  You wonder how long he's been looking for you.

            "It's not closed," you say.  "It's just relocated.  Had to get a little more exclusive, is all."  You drink down half of the cup before realizing you kind of wanted some sugar.  Oh well.  "Where's that gangly motherfucker?"

            "Out," Vantas says.

            "Great, coming and going as you please, too.  First coffee, then drones getting brought to my door.  Just what I need."

            "He's not going to bring drones back with him!"  Vantas slams down the loaf, which really isn't that impressive.  You stare at him from over the rim of your mug as he glares back at you.  "He's smart - smarter than you could ever hope to be with the mush clogging up the prime real estate where your thinkpan should reside, and he's not going to fucking bring down the wrath of the imperial drones on you or me or _anyone_.  So shove your deprecation back down your protein chute and shut the fuck up!"

            You give him a minute to breathe, watching his chest heave, and then say, "Then why do you need me?"

            Vantas tries not to look as suddenly defeated as he must feel, but you can see it.  It's ridiculous how easy it is to read his emotion.  (You notice, though, that he hasn't flushed in anger - nor has he cried, or teared up or _anything_.  He's _good_ at hiding his blood color for someone with such a shitty poker face.)  "His hive was destroyed, and I..."  He shudders, suddenly, and you turn to get a cup of coffee for him.  "I think mine's been... compromised.  So I can't go home, and neither can he."

            "That sucks."

            "Shut your fucking windhole."

            "I'm serious," you say.  "I've had to relocate a couple times in the past sweep because of what happened.  It sucks."  You hold out a mug full of hot coffee, and he stares at you as he takes it into his own hands.  "And it was your fault."

            "Fuck you, that wasn't my fault.  _You_ killed the drone."

            " _You_ got cut and then ran into me.  It was your fault for bringing it with you."

            The look he gives you could slice you to the bone.  You try not to look away, but it's hard.  Even through your sunglasses, the look is penetrating - full of anger and resentment and you know it was a shitty thing to do, blaming him for something he can't control.

            "I don't need some lowlife human telling me I'm a fucking problem," he says finally, his throat making his voice sound tight.  Not restrained, though.  You don't think Vantas knows how to restrain his voice.  "I know exactly what I am."

            "Whoa," you say, holding up your free hand, "Slow your roll, Vantas.  I'm not saying that."

            "Then what the fuck are you saying?"

            "I'm saying..."  You don't know _what_ you're saying.  You know you were insulting him, but you didn't mean his blood.  You were more interested in the fact that he couldn't hide from a drone worth shit.  "I'm saying that I know what it's like to be booted out because of shit you can't control, and if you guys are in the same situation, then awesome.  One big, happy boat of fuckers who have nowhere else to go.  I'm pretty much a halfway house at this point.  For mutants, freaks and weird yellowbloods who like wearing their matesprit's clothes."

            Vantas splutters, nearly spit-taking another gulp of coffee, and then snaps, "The fuck, we're not _matesprits_ , we're just friends!"

            "Trolls don't have friends," you say.

            "Shows how much you know."

            "Then what is he doing in your shirt?"  You raise a brow.  "It's definitely not his, and since you guys came here, that means you're on your own."

            It's another weird, tight-throated moment between you two, but you weather this one much better than the last.  "He needed one," he says, his voice tired again, like it was the night before.  "His was - he just needed a shirt.  Who fucking cares why he's wearing it and who are you to ask an invasive question like that?"

            "Your landlord, motherfucker.  You're paying rent in answers, right here, right now.  What the fuck have you been doing for this past sweep?  It better be something important, because I blew a lot of time and energy on replacing sopor and getting rid of a drone body because of you."

            "I was dealing with Captor, if you have to fucking know."  Vantas settles his mug onto the countertop and returns to putting together a grubsauce and jelly sandwich, which is fucking nasty as hell.  You don't even keep grubsauce on hand; you can hardly stand the taste.  "He needed some help dealing with the army, so I'm helping."

            "Oh, are you fucking kidding me."  This is worse than you thought.  "Is he a fucking draft dodger?  Are you seriously putting me in the position of having a freak, a mutant, and an _A.W.O.L. soldier_ under my roof?  Vantas, what the fuck do-"

            "He's not _dodging anything_.  He's just not giving them a chance to fuck him up."  There's a moment when you can see a shudder roll through Vantas's back, like he's trying to restrain himself, and then his hands brace against the counter top and he leans forward, shoulders sagging.  Holy shit, he looks fucking exhausted.  "They're always looking for more helmsmen."

            You don't say anything for a while.  Vantas stays slouched over the countertop, every breath noticeably lifting his shoulders, this kind of nasally sigh escaping whenever he opens his mouth, and you think that you should look into getting your recuperacoon transported here.  You don't know how long they're planning on staying, but with the way Vantas looks, it's going to be longer than they said.

            "Okay."  Vantas's shoulders tense as you slap a hand against his back, passing him by to get to your respiteblock.  "I've got shit to do, a business to run, et-cet, so I'm gonna go get dressed and take off.  When your gangly biffle with a lisp shows up again, you guys can come down and I'll hook you up with some sopor sleepytime tea.  Looks like you could use it."

            "...I don't know where your place is," Vantas says, voice low.

            "I'll leave you a card."

            You can feel him staring at your retreating form, but you don't look back.  This is just to make sure that, when they need to leave, the two trolls hiding in your hive will be cognizant enough to _go_.  And, maybe, just a little bit to do with the fact that Vantas is just as fucked as you are.

            But mostly, you just want him to go.


	5. Chapter 5

            Your bar isn't often frequented by trolls, so the appearance of two in the dark haze sends up little warning signs through your patrons.  The music doesn't screech to a halt, the people don't stop mid-sentence and stare, and nobody says _we don't take kindly to your type around here_ , which is a fucking grace because the last thing you want is a desert standoff inside your classy as fuck establishment.

            The warnings are more like furtive glances at you, which is fine because you just wave Vantas and Captor over and treat them like you actually know them.  When people see it, they relax back into their seats and return to their business.  That's good, because you don't want them getting involved in _yours_.

            "Look at that," you drawl, "No drones on your tail or anything, looks like Vantas was right."

            Vantas bristles but Captor just shrugs his shoulders, wearing a better fitting shirt - one that shows off the weird ridges of his spine a little more clearly.  Looking between the two now, you can tell that Vantas might be the shorter of the two, but his clothes are two sizes too big, like he's trying to make himself look bigger.  Except it's failing.

            "You should probably order something so people don't get the wrong idea," you add when neither of them speak.

            "I can't drink liquor," Captor says, "Not for seventy-two hours."

            "I don't drink that swill," Vantas adds.

            "Yeah, whatever," you say, and pour him a shot anyway.  "I'll take you downstairs in a sec.  Just gotta soothe the natives back into normalcy."

            They swivel their necks to look out at the dark, human-exclusive bar and find several people glancing back at them.  Vantas looks disquieted by that fact and even takes his shot when he sees it, but Captor just shrugs his shoulders and says, "They'll get over it.  K.K. needs to sleep."

            "Yeah, I'm getting that," you say.  "I have some shit to do this morning, once I close up, so I'm going to be sticking here today anyway.  You'll have plenty of time to do some sopor tag-teaming.  It's probably big enough for both of you, if you cuddle."

            " _Shut up_ ," Vantas hisses, and you allow yourself a half-smirk.  You might as well be grinning.

            "Wigglers, please," Captor snaps, "Can we just _not_ do the fighting thing right now?  My head is killing me."

            "I got something for that," you say, waving away any of Captor's objections as you duck under the back counter, feeling around in the dark cabinet until your hand clasps around a bottle.  With a practiced backwards toss, you lob it right at the two.  The potential hilarity of seeing two trolls struggle to catch a bottle mid-air is completely ruined by the fact that Captor's got it in a blue-red tractor beam.  No fucking fair; you're pretty sure that's cheating.

            "These aren't legal," Captor says, even as he uses his psionics to flip off the lid.

            "For humans, sure."

            Vantas checks the label as Captor takes four pills and chucks them down his throat without thinking about it.  You file that away.  "The dosage is two pills per night, so don't just swallow as many as you can get your grubby fingers on," he scolds, punching Captor's arm in the most ineffectual way possible.  "And this shit could _kill_ a human, you numbskull, why the fuck do you have them?"

            "I get headaches," you say.  Vantas looks to you for more information, but you just let him stare into your shades until he gets uncomfortable and looks away.  "Besides, who even cares?  I've got way worse hiding around here somewhere."

            That much they know too, because they're here to use some of that worse stuff.  Sometimes, you have to question why sopor is so strictly limited to trolls when it does pretty much nothing for humans - but then you remember Rose, and how she's gone off the deep end, and maybe it makes more sense than you'd like it to.

            They sit at the bar, in the corner furthest from the door, and you watch them as the night progresses.  Captor seems to have procured a husktop from somewhere, because he's set himself up a little command module and is currently letting his fingers fly across the keyboard, responding to Vantas in short little snaps and half-formed sentences.  He doesn't sound pissed off, which is kind of a surprise, because Vantas is literally raving at him the entire time he's working and it's even starting to get on _your_ nerves.  You weren't aware that it was possible to rant at such a low decibel.

            By three - the standard closing hour for all non-essential, human-run businesses - your bar is nearly completely unoccupied, leaving the music echoing quietly through a dark, empty room.  You think about that for a few seconds, about how dark and empty everything is and how alone -

            No, fuck that, you are _not_ going down that lame as fuck route again.  You've got trolls to manage and an acquaintance to meet with, and being a depressed, retrospective fuckhead can wait until later.  You use the time you could've been moping to usher out the last few patrons, sliding the bolt across the door once they've gone.  Then, you return to your wayward trolls and their ridiculous shenanigans.

            "C'mon," you say to them, gesturing until Captor finally seems to register you.  He's been slacking off with the crazy typing for the last forty-five minutes, and you're prettysure that has something to do with the four pills of glorified musclebeast tranquilizer he downed.  Vantas helps him up, grabbing his husktop from the counter and dragging him around to the other side of the bar as you go to the back door.  Instead of just having a shitty store-room plainly visible, you've invested in something a little more... well.  Fucking awesome, to be honest.

            The door leads to a storage room about half the size of your old one; nothing can fit in it beyond shelves full of supplies and probably two people if they were really fucking adventurous.  You can hear Vantas suck in a breath, like he's about to start on some kind of rant, but you kick back, hit his shin with a satisfying " _ow, fuck!_ " from him, and then flip the third switch from the door.  It sets the spring off on the one bare wall in the back with a shitty movie poster on it, and you pry it forward until it swings and reveals the steep steps down, spiraling a full flight below. 

            The second switch on the wall flips on a dim light downstairs.  "After you," you say, watching as Captor starts down without fear, holding out an arm to brace his slowly swaying body against the wall.  Vantas looks at you long and hard and finally you snap, "Are you just going to stare at me all night, or what?"

            "You," he starts, then stops.  He tries again, this time with more success.  "You've been getting ready for something like this.  Haven't you."

            "Nope," you say.  "Just always wanted a secret room.  And now I've got one."

            "Is this a drone's _head_?" Captor's voice echoes from down below.

            "Yep," you echo back.

            "Fucking hell," Vantas sighs, following Captor's voice down the stairs.  You take a moment to flip the switch back into its correct position, then close the fake wall behind you until it clicks.  You're going back up, sure, but just in case someone breaks in, you don't want them finding this.

            It's not a very big room, sure, but it's got your recuperacoon, a cot and a drone's skull mounted on the wall, so you're pretty okay with it.  "Why," Vantas asks, picking his words slowly, "Do you have a skull on the wall?"

            "Why the fuck wouldn't I?  You saw how big that asshole was."  You move to pat the hollowed out head fondly.  You fail to mention that this isn't actually the skull of the same drone Vantas remembers.  "I deserved a trophy.  You'd rather me hook this bitch up into a sick as fuck husktop?  Because I considered that, but it'd be kind of rude to this dude here."

            "That would be pretty fucking cool," Captor admits.

            "Shut the fuck up, both of you, this is ridiculous.  You have a _secret fucking room_ in your establishment, with a drone skull mounted to the wall and _a recuperacoon_ that I _know_ you've had for longer than this has been going on - _why_?"

            You lift your arms over your head, crack your back and say, "Why not?"

            "Don't look a gift hoofbeast in the mouth," Captor says, sitting heavily on the cot.  That's cool, you're not going to sleep for a few more hours.  He can have it.  "Get some sleep, K.K., we'll figure it out when you're not having narcoleptic episodes in the middle of the night."

            Vantas growls and looks about ready to yell at both of you for... fucking whatever he's mad about now, but he deflates when he sees how dazed Captor is acting.  "Shouldn't have taken all four," he mutters, but he takes off his shirt without any real arguing.

            "Whatever," Captor replies, before looking at you.  You're pretty sure he's looking at you, at least, but it's hard to tell when you can't actually see where his eyes are directed.  "I redid your security from the ground up.  It was good, but this will be better."

            "Gee, thanks, it's not like I was attached to the system I was using."

            "It's still there, fundamentally," Captor says, but it sounds like he barely even heard you.  He looks really tired.  "I saved a backup, anyway.  All the extra coding is still on file for you to access.  Looked important."

            "What extra coding?"

            "Sollux is a minimalist," Vantas says, pulling off his shoes, "When he codes, he strips out anything that isn't strictly useful.  Also, it's all in red and blue.  It's fucking obnoxious."

            "It's efficient," Captor grumbles.  He sways a little, then pulls his legs onto the cot and lies down.  You wonder if he's going to go into some kind of shock or something, or start tripping out.  You've seen it happen with sopor, maybe it's the same with those pills?

            "It's stupid and you know it," Vantas continues, but Captor's eyes are closed and he looks like he's passed out.  You look and find those gray eyes back on you again.  He's hesitating in his undressing.  You wonder if he even remembers that you've already seen him in his underwear.

            "Gonna go wait for a delivery," you say, jerking your thumb to the stairs before about-facing.  Might as well give the fucker some privacy.

            "Why do you have all this?" Vantas asks.  The lack of vitriol in his voice startles you, but you don't turn back around.

            "I used to have friends," you say.  "Sometimes they'd sleep over."

            "But not any more."

            "Wouldn't be able to get down into this bunker if they wanted to, so no.  Not any more."

            You get nearly halfway up the steps before Vantas's voice calls up to you.  "Is that my fault?"  He sounds like he already blames himself and you think he probably should - he's the reason you had to move from an easily accessible back room to some creepy bomb shelter.  If they hadn't stopped visiting sweeps before that, you'd probably blame him too.

            "Nah," you say, "They were long gone by the time I met you."

            Thankfully, he doesn't ask any more questions, and you're allowed to leave with that nice, succinct little reveal hanging in the air for later.


	6. Chapter 6

            You don't trust Kanaya Maryam.  You don't trust many trolls to begin with, but she's particularly offsetting with her glowing white skin and the way she stares without blinking.  Not to mention the fact that you can count the number of people who know she exists on one hand.  Rainbow drinkers are a myth for most of the population: a ghost story to tell around campfires out on the flat mesas.  You know that they're supposed to be a way to teach wigglers about the dangers of the sun before they can understand the actual science.  They're not supposed to be real.

            And yet here one is, standing just inside your doorway, bathed in light while you're stuck hiding in the shadows.  Sure, there are humans and trolls who can stand the light - other jadebloods like Kanaya, for example - but they don't _thrive_ on it.  They use the adaptation when it suits, is all.

            "I have some information for you, in regards to Ms. Lalonde."  Kanaya's tone is clipped, with only a hint of amusement at the fact that you refuse to step into the light.  "Would you like me to close the door so that we can talk?"

            "Yeah, that'd be sweet," you respond, refusing to give into her amusement.  "Want a drink?  I've got A-positive, I know that's your favorite."

            She smiles as she shuts the door, a lot more sincere.  "You are as gentlemanly as ever, Mr. Strider, but I think I will wait until our business is done.  You seem well."

            "Can't complain," you shrug, "Business is booming, half of the trolls that usually bother me are about to get shipped out to the stars - nothing bad going on here."

            Kanaya wanders the room, drawing her fingers along the countertop of the bar and examining them for dust as she moves to take a comfortable seat in the middle of the room.  You don't trust the way she crosses her legs at the ankles, or the way she arches her eyebrow at you.  She's too good a friend of your sister's to trust completely.  Or was.  She doesn't even know where Rose is, after all; your sister hadn't told anyone when she'd left.  Kanaya is just as in the dark as you are, at least where it counts, and you take that as a small win.

            "Your sister was spotted in the catacombs two weeks ago, though I cannot actually confirm this.  Of course, there are very few humans who wander that far north, let alone with an entourage."

            "She's still hanging out with that psycho?" you ask, settling into the seat across from Kanaya, pretending that there's nothing's wrong in having a conversation with a rainbow drinker at nine in the morning.

            "Yes.  As well as one or two others.  One other human, occasionally, but mostly she stays in the company of highbloods."

            "Great," you say.  Kanaya doesn't respond; she just watches you and draws your eyes back to hers with little tilts of her head, like charming a snake through it's fashionable sunglasses.  You stay silent for a few minutes, trying to come up with a reason for your sister to go on her fucked up sabbatical to the northern regions of the planet, but Kanaya's gaze is piercing and way too distracting.

            "You have every right to be concerned, Dave," she says eventually.  "I am too."

            "Yeah, well.  I've got bigger issues than my sister to deal with."  You hesitate for a few seconds, then finally lower your shades to look at her directly.  "How easy is it getting to find me?"

            "For me?"  Kanaya smiles again, trying to reassure you as she says, "Quite easy.  But then again, I know who I am looking for.  Others know where you are, of course, but as far as I have been able to tell, you have kept yourself out of trouble and therefore out of harm's way."

            "Great.  So, no relocation for another half-sweep."

            "At the very least.  I was concerned when you had to relocate from your long-standing location.  I never understood why you were picked out by that drone."

            "Long story," you drawl.

            "I have all day."

            "Yeah, well, I don't.  I need to get my six hours of shut-eye if I plan on opening at a normal hour tonight, so."  You push yourself out of your chair, adjusting your shades to cover your eyes once more.  "Until next time, Maryam.  It's been a blast."

            She doesn't let you get far.  "I think I will have a drink before I go."

            You sigh.  "You ever gonna just let me go without this shit?"

            You can hear her get up, but you don't move from where you're standing; you refuse to turn to face her.  That's probably what she wants, anyway.  "I would, but you know how I feel about you and your sister."

            "Alright, _fine_ ," you mutter.  Kanaya's steps are soft but not soundless as she approaches.  She doesn't bother circling you, probably because she knows you won't be any more appealing from the front.

            She puts a hand on your waist, and you tilt your head in reluctant acceptance.  You used to shudder when she did shit like this, but it's been six times now and you think you're pretty much over her cold hands and the weird way she inhales right before sinking her fangs into your neck.

            But you're not over it enough to keep your knees from buckling under the initial stinging pain; her hands grab your waist and her strength keeps you up and standing until you can find your feet.  When she swallows, you can feel it against your skin.  She doesn't take much - a sample more than a meal - but you can't help but feel like it's too much anyway.  Someone is drinking your blood.  It's fucking weird and gross and what if you had some kind of blood disease?  Do rainbow drinkers have to worry about that kind of shit?

            She pulls her fangs out and grasps one of your hands, bringing it up to rest against the wound.  You put pressure on it and stumble a few steps away from her, making a little moaning noise of irritation and dizziness that you know she kind of gets off on.

            "I will never be disappointed in you, Mr. Strider," Kanaya says, and when you look at her, she's wiping her lips with a long stroke of one finger.  "I will keep an eye out for your sister, and let you know what else I find out."

            "Yeah," you say, a little woozy and in serious need of some sugar, "You do that.  See your own way out."

            She does, leaving on light feet and closing the door behind her.  You lock it, then hunt down some of those sugary cherries to try and up your blood sugar.

            By the time you've eaten about half a jar's worth of cherries, you're starting to think about the easiest way to wake Captor up so that you can take your rightful place on the cot.  You don't want to do it, really, because you can only imagine how disoriented he's going to be, and a disoriented troll is dangerous as fuck, but you're tired enough to try being a little reckless.  Kanaya always takes it out of you, in the most fucking literal ways possible.  You really don't like rainbow drinkers.

            A low, distant shriek jerks you out of your stupor, shaking you from your feet up.  You're moving on autopilot, throwing open the storeroom door and flipping switches to pop open the wall, pulling it aside and closing it harshly behind you before taking the stairs two at a time, your wobbly legs fortified by adrenaline.  You can't help but think that somehow, _something_ got into the shelter down here, and something is happening to the trolls you're supposed to be watching out for, and what would your brother say?  And what if the death knells that are growing in pitch bring unwanted visitors, drones or other trolls or -

            Captor is wailing incoherently, bent at the hip with his torso over the edge of the cot, his claws scraping against the floor as if he's trying to pull himself out of bed, or resisting being pulled back into it.  Sopor dulls sounds but it doesn't erase them, and you know Vantas is going to be alerted soon enough, but if Captor keeps screaming like that, someone else is going to hear first.

            "Holy _shit_ , Captor, snap out of it," you snarl, cautiously approaching.  You know what trolls sound like when they're having their awful day terrors, and this is not it.  His eyes are open, too, a strange alertness in his expression as he struggles against the cot.  You go straight for his shoulders, pushing him back onto the cot while narrowly avoiding his claws.  "What the _fuck_ , man!"

            "I can't feel my legs," he shrieks at you, thrashing from the waist up, "I _can't feel my legs_!"

            "Holy shit, okay - _whoa_ ," you jump back as he lashes out, then grab his wrists and forcefully pin him down.  It's difficult, but he's not as strong as he looks.  "Breathe, dude!"

            "Don't - don't _touch me_ , don't put - let go, _let go right now_ ," Captor wails, his tone spinning wildly between angry and pleading, "Don't put me back in -"

            "What the _fuck are you doing_ ," Vantas snarls from the recuperacoon, and you turn your head to see him trying to climb out, bristling like a guard dog on full alert.

            "He's freaking the fuck out, Vantas, what the fuck-"

            "- _don't don't don't don't_ -"

            "Because you're pinning him down!"

            Vantas sounds good and properly angry, not just his normally irritated self, and so you pull yourself away from Captor.  Immediately, he tries to climb off the cot again; this time, he manages to pull the dead weight of his legs off with him.

            "Sollux," Vantas says, and Captor curls in on himself and stops wailing.  "Sollux, listen to me."

            " _\- don't_ -"

            " _Sollux Captor_ ," Vantas snarls, "Listen to me for one fucking second and stop flipping your shit.  You're _fine_."

            Captor twists his head from under his arms, staring up at Vantas with a look you can't quite understand.  "K.K., I-"

            "You _can_ move your legs.  Look at yourself," he continues, gesturing until Captor does indeed bend his neck, this time to actually take in his own situation on the floor.  "See?  You're fine.  We're in some dipshit's storm cellar, waiting for this bullshit to blow over, remember?"  He jerks a thumb back at you, and you try not to step back.  This feels _wrong_ , and you don't want to be a part of it.

            Captor blinks a few times as he looks at you.  Then, his body seems to go slack against the floor, tensing briefly before relaxing.  He finally bends his knees and pushes himself up into a sitting position.  "Oh."

            "Yeah," Vantas says.  He looks back at you, still angry as fuck but also maybe a little apologetic.  "See, everything's fine.  Just - you take the recuperacoon for now.  C'mon, I'll help you up."

            Though you sort of expect Captor to resist being coddled like a wiggler who just had a terrible dream, he doesn't.  He lets Vantas help him to his unsteady feet and lets him help with his clothes until he's in nothing but these awful bee-patterned boxers, which feel obscenely absurd given the situation.  You can see the way his shoulders slope at this weird angle, a ring of bumps looping around his neck, faint like the pockmarks of long-lost grub legs.  When Vantas helps him to the recuperacoon, you see that every bump of his spine is grossly protruding, lined with yet more bumps and indents.

            Vantas makes sure Captor is safely sunken into the sopor before he turns around, dripping on the floor and looking cold and kind of miserable.  He sees you, scowls for a moment, then sighs, running a hand through his hair.  You turn away to dig through a box of miscellanea, find a towel and turn back to find him sitting against the recuperacoon with his knees up to his chin.  He looks like he did the night you killed that drone in front of him.

            You hold out the towel.  He takes it, scowling reluctantly at you, and pulls it around himself, scrubbing at his hair and shoulders.  You slide down the side of the recuperacoon until you're sitting next to him.

            "So, when you said he wasn't a draft-dodger, you were telling the truth," you offer up.

            "Of course I was," Vantas snarls quietly, wicking sopor off his horns.  He looks at you like he wants to yell, but the fight has been drained out of him.  "He didn't have a choice.  A guy with his kind of power doesn't get to pick where they go.  Not when they're... him."  Vantas jerks a finger over his shoulder.  "So they strapped him in and took him for a test drive."

            "Okay," you say, because you're pretty sure you don't want to hear this.

            "Except he's got issues.  Half the time, he was nearly shorting out the entire ship - the other half, he could hardly get anything running to begin with.  So, they tried to decommission him."

            Neither of you need to clarify what "decommission" means here.  Trolls who can't perform their necessary functions in the Imperial Army?  Yeah, you get that one.

            "So of course, he blows the ship half to fucking hell while it's still docked, tears himself out of his port and drags his stupid, panicked fucking _idiot_ ass to me; his hive's been gone for nearly half a sweep already, _I_ thought he was fucking dead, and he just... shows up, and with the drones already flagged for my existence, I just..."

            His head thunks against the recuperacoon and he exhales slowly through his nose.  He still looks fucking exhausted, even with a good few hours of sopor-induced relaxation.  You don't know what to say to him.  You don't really give a shit about Captor's issues - the dude isn't your fucking problem, beyond being part of Vantas's vast conspiracy to fuck your life over.  But that outburst had been enough to show you just how _fucked up_ his situation was, and now you're pretty clear on how it's fucking Vantas up too.

            You feel eyes on you, and when you look over, Vantas is watching you.  "You got cut," he says, a little distantly.

            "Yeah," you mutter, raising a hand to your neck and feeling the slight grooves of the puncture marks.  "Guess Captor must've gotten me when I was pinning his dumb fucking ass down.  No biggie."

            "Yeah," Vantas says.  He doesn't look like he believes you, but that's not your problem.

            "You can have the cot," you say after a few minutes of silence.  "I got comfy chairs upstairs."

            "I can't do that," he starts, but you just push at his shoulder.

            "Don't fucking argue, dude, just let me be a good host and shit."  You struggle to your feet, careful not to slip in the sopor puddles around you, and Vantas watches you as you start for the stairs again.

            "Your friends," he says suddenly.  "Did you let them hide out in your storeroom too?"

            You look at him and consider telling him a lie.  Finally, though, you settle for a nod.  "Sometimes, yeah."  Maybe not from the army, but there were plenty of other things that could want to hurt a troll in this world.  Sometimes, they didn't even deserve it.

            "Okay."  Vantas nods, pulling the towel around his waist once he's on his feet.  "That's all I need to know."

            "Don't you want to know if I managed to keep them hidden?" you ask.

            There's a moment of hesitance, a kind of flight-or-fight type expression coming over his face, before he shakes his head.  "Fuck no.  Let me have my tenuous grasp on hope for now."

            "Yeah," you say.  "Okay."

            You head back upstairs, pulling out your husktop once the doors to the storeroom are secure, and start doing a little secure-network digging of your own.


	7. Chapter 7

            When Captor climbs out of the recuperacoon, you're waiting for him.  Vantas is sleeping restlessly on the cot, but at least he's a heavy sleeper; despite shuddering and clawing occasionally at one of the shitty blankets, he doesn't budge.  Not even when you say, "Yo.  Got something to show you."

            "What do you _want_ ," Captor growls, wobbly on his feet like a wiggler first learning how to stand, "I don't have the energy to deal with you right now."

            "You had plenty of energy a few hours ago when you were flopping around like you were having a seizure, so dreg some of that up, grab a towel and follow me."

            Captor bares his mismatched fangs at you, but he takes one of the towels you'd laid out earlier and wraps it around his waist, pausing long enough to pull off his boxers, leaving them in a sopping puddle in the middle of the floor.  He stares at you defiantly, as though you care enough to ask him to hang that shit up or to put on something more than a towel.  Let him do whatever he wants, you don't give a shit.  He can walk around naked as the day he was spawned if he wants; you have bigger fish to fry than his little pissing contest of who's more of a dick.

            You make sure that Captor is following, but otherwise you refuse to look back at him as you ascend the stairs, waiting for him to pass by before closing the wall.  Your husktop is settled out on top of the bar, flashing lines of code that Captor is immediately drawn to.

            "You found the file of the old code," he says, like he's impressed that you knew to look on the desktop under "terriible 2afety mea2ure2" - you don't take the bait, though.  You don't want to talk about the messages left behind in the security settings from your brother, anyway.  Most of them were stupidly obvious, after all - don't do stupid shit, keep away from trolls, and don't kill any drones.

            You've ignored all three pieces of advice, which you prove as you sidestep around Captor and tab over to your browser.

            "I did some research," you say, ignoring the way he looks at you as you type, "Since you want to get off-planet.  The easiest way is to just jack a shuttle and blast the fuck off."

            "That's not happening," he says immediately, bristling against the very idea, "I'm _not_ doing that, so don't even fucking suggest it."

            "Yeah, you kind of are," you say, keeping your pokerface as Captor clenches his fist.  He looks ready to punch you.  You hope he does; you haven't gone up against a troll in a while - especially one with powerful psychic abilities.  "If you'd stop being such a fucking wiggler about this, I could _finish_.  Turns out, there's a way to navigate without a helmsman being physically jacked in.  It's not easy and you need to know how to do it - which means training, and a lot of fucking research - but it's totally possible and if you're half as intelligent as Vantas says you are, you can probably figure it out easily enough."

            You turn your husktop so that Captor can see the instructions written out in shorthand, which is kind of indecipherable to you, but you got the gist.  Besides, you have friends to explain it.  Harley had been particularly interested.

            He stares at it for so long that you think he might have fallen into some kind of comatose flashback state, but finally he blinks and tilts his head towards you.  He doesn't say anything, so you take it as a silent acknowledgement that you didn't fuck up too badly.

            His shoulders slope, his whole body responding to the frown forming on his face.  "That still doesn't mean shit," he says, sounding suddenly miserable.  These moodswings are kind of pissing you off.  "I could probably figure it out, yeah, but that still means we need a ship.  And I can't - I _can't_ get back into the Imperial docks.  I..."  He shudders, and you can't help but feel a little bad.  Shit's been rough on him.  Still, he needs to man the fuck up.  "I can't go back there."

            "Yeah, well.  You don't have to."  You run a few sweep programs, which clear your connection and, at least superficially, restore your husktop to basically like-new conditions.  All of the files you have are safely stored away, inaccessible to anyone who isn't you.  Another little protocol your brother set up.  Captor looks impressed as he stares at your screen.  "I have a friend.  He's got something we could use - problem is, he lives out on the mesa.  Pretty much impossible to get to with the kind of vehicles I can get my hands on here.  If we can get there, though, he can hook us up."

            Captor remains silent, still slump-shouldered and morose looking.  He looks hopeless, and you can't help but think that Vantas is going to get discouraged just by glancing at this dumb fuckhead.

            "Would you stop looking like I just said you were going to fucking die, dude?  Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?  I'm _giving you an out_.  Look, you get a free fucking lift to the fucking stars, no hookup required, and you're acting like that isn't a good thing."

            "It _isn't_ , because we can't just fucking go out onto the mesa.  If you knew anything about trolls, which you obviously fucking don't, you'd know that the sun is more lethal to most of us than it is to you assholes.  And even if we got out there - even if it worked, and we got out of atmosphere and had our own special coordinates to some magically unoccupied planet, it wouldn't matter."  He coils like a spring, snarling, "There's _nowhere to run_.  I made a fucking mistake trying to get out, and K.K. got dragged into it - what was I supposed to tell him?  That we couldn't go anywhere and that I'd pretty much just signed his fucking _death warrant_ by showing up at his place like that?"

            You don't know what you expected, but it hadn't been that.  You know that the Alternian Empire stretches a lot farther out than most humans probably assume, but - well.  You're fucking human.  The information related to the army and the planets they conquer is kind of limited when it comes to the general populace; other than giving the vague congratulatory ceremonies every time a planet is overtaken, they're left in the dark.  Humans aren't even given that benefit, forced to learn it second-hand from other sources.

            There have to be planets that aren't considered important enough to establish military bases on.  Some kind of weird backwater place, or something.  But Captor's expression is grim, and you know he's the only one who might know more than the average Joe Troll about the goings-on of the Alternian army.

            "I didn't know what else to say," Captor says.

            "Probably not a good idea to lie," you retort.  "What the fuck else can you do now, though?"

            Captor doesn't answer, but you can see his thoughts flickering like blue-red light.  None of the ideas he's coming up with are good ones.

            "Well?" you snap.  You feel uncharacteristically irritated by the fact that Captor's lied to Vantas, and that now, faced with the truth of the matter, he can't come up with anything to solve the problem he's made for the troll who called him a friend.  The troll who'd dragged you into this mess assuming there was a solution to begin with.

            "What the fuck do you want me to say?" Captor growls, "I don't have another plan!  I fucked up, okay?  I fucked up and now K.K. is just as screwed as I am!"

            "I don't really have the time for your self-pity," you say, "Go jerk off into a pail on your own fucking time.  I've got two trolls hiding in my basement because of you, and no way to get rid of you fuckers because you decided to play out this bullshit until you couldn't keep it up."

            Captor nearly punches you right then and there.  You can feel energy crackle through your sunglasses, as though he wants to rip them off with his stupid mind powers - but then the door slams and Vantas is there, standing just outside of directly between you and him.  Immediately, the fight goes out of Captor and he sags into a nearby chair.

            "So," Vantas says.  "That's not an option any more."

            He looks just as tired as he did last day, and you want to tell him to go back in the fucking recuperacoon and let you handle this mess, but you don't.  This _isn't your problem._

            "K.K., I-"

            "Don't," Vantas says, holding up a hand.  He doesn't look at either of you, his eyes fixed somewhere just beyond his feet.  He's not wearing a shirt.  You don't know why you notice that, out of all the things to notice about him; you could have taken immediate note of his slumped shoulders, of the fact that his eyes are bloodshot, which is just as bad as them being fully red, of _anything_.  But you notice that he hasn't even dressed before coming upstairs.  "It's fine.  We were always going to have to run, and we both knew it.  Now we just have to find out where to run to."

            Neither of them speak, and you wonder if Vantas doesn't have some kind of mind power of his own.  Lots of lowbloods do - maybe mutants are the same.  Or maybe they're higher on the hemospectrum than people say.

            Either way, you get a feeling like maybe you're the one who has to do something.  You stare blankly at your like-new husktop, flipping open your Trollian client and staring at all the names you've got.  None of the ones that are still active strike you as useful.  Harley could probably get them out to some remote island, but it would never be permanent.  John's got the ship, but he and his dad can't help the fact that there's nowhere to take it.  Nitram's off the grid now, and Pyrope isn't exactly someone you can trust to help in a situation like this.  She's too fond of playing legislacerator to condone any outlaw behavior.  Besides, you haven't talked to her in at least two sweeps.

            Kanaya's online, but you don't trust her, either.  Besides, you're asking enough from her already, having her look for your wayward sister and all.  You don't need to make your debt with a rainbowdrinker any bigger.

            "Fuck it," Vantas says suddenly.  You look at him and see that Captor is staring at him with furrowed brows.  He's standing with his back straight, arms crossed against his chest.  "Let's try it anyway."

            "K.K., I don't think-"

            "Yeah, that's fucking clear," Vantas snaps, "But I don't care what you think or don't think.  We don't have any other ideas.  We might as well try this one, because we can't stay here any more."

            You know that it's true, but you don't think Vantas really realizes what he's saying.  Captor seems to think the same from the look on his face.

            "This isn't up for discussion," Vantas adds, as though either of you would be willing to argue the point.  He looks at you, and you wonder at how he's managed to get this far without losing his sanity.  "If you can get us as far as you can tomorrow night, we'll get the rest of the way on our own."

            "No way, dude," you say.  "I haven't seen my bro Egbert in too long to just let you wander the fuck into the wilderness.  Might as well see this shit through to the end."

            Captor looks defeated.  Vantas - he kind of looks relieved.  You don't know how you feel about that.  "Okay," he says.  "Then we'll all see this to the end."

            You shut your husktop without another word and start working on getting the place ready to open.  Vantas leans his head close to Captor's, murmuring quietly - quieter than you'd figure a guy with his voice would ever be able to be - and then the two of them retreat back into the hidden room.

            A few minutes later, Captor leaves the bar, and he doesn't come back until well after two in the morning.  He doesn't look at you when he returns.


	8. Chapter 8

            Harley insists on you waiting a few days until she can get things settled, so that she can help you and the trolls get out to John's without a hitch.  You were reluctant to accept her help, but the fact of the matter is that neither Captor nor Vantas would be able to survive the journey out to the mesa the way they are.  Vantas is too sleep-deprived, while Captor...

            Well.  You're positive that you made a mistake in not soundproofing the panic room to excess.

            The fact is that they're both fucked up, and you're kind of fucked up too, even if they don't know it, and Harley's the safest, easiest way to get this done.  She can take you there in the blink of an eye, and other that the severe nausea that comes with transporting like that, there aren't any long-term side-effects that make it overly dangerous.  Besides, you don't know where you can scrounge up the vehicle necessary for the trek otherwise.

            You just wish you didn't have to rely on her and put her in even more danger.  You're sick of doing that to people you care about.

            It's half-past three in the morning when you close up.  It's been three days since you made arrangements - the only thing left to do is go to your apartment and clean up shop.  Strip everything, make sure there's nothing traceable back to you or anyone you know, and definitely make sure that anything you have to leave behind is completely squeaky clean.  The trolls don't ask why you think it's necessary to wipe yourself out of the system, when all you're supposed to be doing is helping them get to the mesa.  You don't have to explain that you might not come back; or that, if you do, you'll want a completely fresh start.  Somewhere that doesn't connect you to two renegade trolls on the run.

            Vantas insists on coming with you, which means Captor comes too.  You don't need an entourage, especially one that makes you even more suspicious, but there's not much to do.  They're getting anxious, and it's like trying to pen in wild hoofbeasts before a storm.  You have no choice but to let them tag along, keeping more to the left of them than necessary, so that any patrols that come by won't think you're with them.  You don't need to be stopped because of this weird shit.

            The effort to sterilize your hive goes twice as quick as it would have if you'd gone alone.             It helps that you'd been living pretty bare-bones for a while.  You hadn't wanted to get used to the place, because you'd probably have to move.  You're used to doing it, but it doesn't mean this isn't any less pathetic.

            Vantas and Captor know exactly what to look for, which is both relieving and a little disheartening.  You don't know why, but the look of concentration on Vantas's face as he clears out drawers in your respiteblock makes you feel uncomfortable.  And while Captor might be a dick, he's completely professional about helping make sure that none of your friends have even one iota of a connection to this place.  He has military precision.  He knows what they'd look for.

            You stick as close to the shadows of buildings as the three of you head back to the bar.  The sun is going to rise soon - you can already feel the dry heat - and you are so fucking eager to get back into the safety of your dark little bar that you don't notice the drone down the alleyway until it clicks at you in that ugly language.

            "Curfew for humans is three AM," it says, which is bullshit because it's usually four and usually not enforced, but you can tell it's already sizing you up for a fight.  Not for the first time, you wonder how much that drone had gotten out to its comrades before you'd killed it.

            Vantas and Captor are just behind you, frozen - you can feel them, like you could feel that drone all that time ago, when you'd grabbed Vantas and ran.  It's instinct that makes you draw back, but that just makes the drone move, slow steps forward and oh, wow.

            "You're a big guy," you say, almost like commenting on the weather.  You're quick to correct yourself.  "I was held up.  Heading home now."

            "Residential areas are the opposite direction.  Protocol requires an escort -"

            It stops talking.  You tense - the whole world tenses with you, everything coming to a stop so that you can watch the drone tilt its head in consideration.  He's tasting the air.

            This is not a good time to be getting into a fight.  You want to run, but Vantas and Captor might not be able to keep up, and even if they did, they'd take a second longer to start running than you and that second is probably enough for the drone to grab at least one of them.

            Captor makes the first mistake.  He doesn't speak - he just inhales, low, trying to calm down, and the drone immediately moves.  You're jumping back and pulling out your sword even as you consider that it's a feint, or some kind of bluff.

            It isn't, and your hesitance earns you the near-full weight of a thirty-sweep drone bearing down on you like a mach fucking truck.

            It throws you aside and you hit the ground with a mind-rattling thud.  Captor's lashing out with his psionics - you can feel them crack through the air like a lightning strike - and the drone reels back, staggering its steps.  You can tell from the way its armor shudders that it hadn't expected a high-level psionic to be tailing a scrawny little human like yourself, and you use that surprise to come up behind and drive your blade under the armor plating.

            Or, you try.

            The drone sweeps an arm back and clobbers you upside the head, sending spots flickering through your vision.  Vantas ducks in from somewhere to the left and hooks a sickle across the elbow, wrenching the drone's arm away from you, and you force yourself past the spots and your aching head to launch yourself at the drone's torso.  It spins away, faster and lighter on its feet than any drone you've ever encountered, and Captor yelps as it smacks him across the face.  Energy lashes out - you can see his eyes flash, blood dripping from slashes over his brow - and you feel it sear your fingertips as it darts past to hit the drone in the chest.  You drop your sword - stupid, _stupid_ \- and when the drone staggers back from the energy, it grabs your bicep tight in its hand, right up by the shoulder.

            The armored plating on each finger digs into your skin, like pinpricks at first, then blazing hot as they sink beyond the skin and into the meat of your arm.  It lifts you up without a thought and gravity drags the grated armor up, nearly to your elbow, like your arm is made of hard butter and _fuck does it hurt_.

            You scream.

            Captor can't concentrate enough to direct his attack and so it hits your hand as well as the drone's, but you can't really feel it past a mild burning, and the world around you is blurred as you hang from its grip, reaching blindly to try and pry its fingers loose.  Your hand comes back bright red and bloody and you can hear Vantas screaming over your own howls.

            It tosses you aside and you stay down, you can hardly even think with the pain, nausea and horror overcoming you when you roll your head and glimpse the raw, mangled mess of your upper arm.  Your chest constricts, like your lungs themselves can't handle this fucking mess, and your face is hot and wet and your glasses are lying somewhere off to your side, well out of reach from either arm, and you are sobbing like a fucking wiggler.

            Vantas is kneeling over you, shouting words that you can't decipher through the blood pounding through your ears, your entire head throbbing and everything gaining vignette blurs around them as you try to see through pain and tears.  He doesn't stay for more than a second, but in that second all you want is for him to stay, and when he's gone all you want to do is get up and fight with him.

            Captor hovers over you, pulls off his shirt and wraps it tight around your arm.  He's muttering, frantic, his eyes crackling and glowing blue-red-blue-red, and he shouts at Vantas.  You lift your head long enough to see that mangy, stupid, troublesome fucking troll plant a foot into the drone's chest and bring him to the ground, and you see him look back towards you.  You think you see it.  You don't know.

            You force yourself to watch as he takes one sickle to the throat of the drone, the other raised like an axe about to drop, but your neck refuses to support your weight and it's only Captor's hand that keeps you from cracking your skull yet again against the ground.

            Vantas speaks.  You'd have to be dead not to hear him.

            "Take one good, long look at me, and then you tell all of your fucking friends right now that if they think they can keep doing this to me and mine, _they're dead fucking wrong._   I'm _not running again._ "

            You hear the snap-crackle of broken exoskeleton and the keening, chittering wail of a drone calling out.  It doesn't sound like the usual call for backup.  Your arm burns and your fingers are numb and your head is putting you through the most agonizing pain of your life, but that drone didn't call for backup.  You're pretty sure it warned anyone nearby not to come for it.

            Captor says your name, and then Vantas is grabbing you by the chin and turning your head to try and get you to focus on him.  He says your name too.  The adrenaline is fading fast, now that the immediate danger is over, and you think about how your arm is so fucked, your entire body is so fucked, your head's probably split open, you're going to die on the fucking sidewalk because of two fucking trolls who couldn't just do their own thing.

            You think about your brother and all the warnings you consistently failed to listen to.

            "I want my brother," you say, and you don't care that your voice is cracked and scared because you _are_ cracked and scared.  Fuck pretending not to be.  None of you have any illusions about this mess.  "I want to go home."

            Vantas says, "Strider, you dumb fucking asshole," and then he and Captor heave you up between them.  Your arm is a mess and they quickly make sure that you aren't using it when they literally drag you across the cement, towards the bar that's three blocks and two minutes away at this pace.  You're losing a lot of blood.  You think about Kanaya and how thrilled she'd be to see all your blood dripping everywhere, like a fucking buffet.  And then you think about Rose and how she's gone so far away, kind of like your brother, and you need to find her and tell her to stop being such a fucking insane jerkoff of a human being.

            You try not to think about Jade or John.

            Captor says, "We need to get him medical attention."

            "You fucking think?"  Vantas shakes your shoulder, far above where it's busted up, and says, "Strider, stay with us."

            "I just want to go home," you mumble.  You know that your brother would be so goddamn disappointed in you if he could see you now, but thankfully he's dead so that's  not a problem.

            You let out a fresh sob at that thought and then say, "Kanaya," because if anyone can help you right now it's a fucking jade-blooded rainbowdrinker.

            " _Kanaya_?"

            Vantas sounds like he's coming from down a long tube and you know you're blacking out, which is the worst thing you can do, but you're losing way too much blood to stay awake.  You bob your head in a nod, then close your eyes and, in your final, most stupid fucking moment, you let yourself pass out.  It's just like going to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

            You wake up a few times over the next couple of nights.

            The first time, you're lying on the cot in your terrible storm cellar of a hideout; Vantas has you leaning against him like a monstrous harlequin doll, one arm bracing you across the chest and the other smoothing hair off of your infection-sweaty forehead.  He says something, but your ears are full of mashed grubloaf and you can hardly see anything beyond the glowing red-blue of Captor's eyes as he all but force-feeds you a pill.  You choke it down and you think maybe you cry a little, and Vantas says something else as he touches your injured arm.  It throbs with newly remembered pain, and you try to pull away as they hold you down and change the bloody, puss-covered bandage.  The pain and medication throw you back into what you suppose is sleep before they finish.

            The next time you regain consciousness, Kanaya is leaning over you with her jade-bloodied arm in front of your mouth.  "Drink," she says, and through the haze you do exactly what you're told.  She speaks to Karkat, and while you don't hear what's being said over the sound of blood pushing through your head, she sounds familial and surprisingly warm.

            You wake up again, more coherently, in the recuperacoon.  For a second you think you're submerged completely, but when you tilt your head up to breach the surface, you find yourself already staring at the dark ceiling above you.  Your hair is slick against your scalp, heavy with sopor, and your body is tingling pleasantly, like when you're just about to fall asleep and everything feels comfortably heavy and numb.

            Vantas is in here with you, pressed close, and you don't really know what that means, but you kind of appreciate it anyway.  It's comfortable, just like the rest of your body.

            You lift your arm and find that, while it looks more emaciated than your other arm and raw-skinned, it's definitely not infected any more and you're definitely not going to lose it.  Which is a fucking blessing, you don't think you could survive without it.  You'd be culled in a matter of nights.

            Vantas grumbles in his own sleep behind you, and you don't stir any more than necessary, putting your arm back under and letting the sopor cradle you.  You should be panicking.  The fact that you've been put in sopor means that they know more about you than you wanted to let on.  But, somehow, you can't bring yourself to care.  You're just... comfortable.

            "I had to tell them," Kanaya says from somewhere in the dark of the room, and you look up to see her dimly glowing on the cot, illuminating Captor's restlessly sleeping form.  "I apologize for that.  Without sopor, however, you would have lost the arm."

            You have to cough and clear your throat before you can talk, and even then, your voice sounds frail and tear-stricken and gritty.  You definitely aren't doing one-hundred-percent yet.  "It's cool," you say after a minute.

            "They already knew most of it.  I was unaware that you knew Karkat," she adds.

            "In passing, I guess," you say, but her quirked eyebrow and significant look to the mop of hair behind you says that she doesn't really buy that.  "Didn't know you knew him.  Could've saved myself a lot of trouble."

            "Maybe.  You should be feeling better by tomorrow.  I know that Sollux and Karkat want to speak with you, whenever you feel up to it."

            "Yeah, not surprised.  I probably freaked them out a little."

            "Dave," Kanaya says, standing and moving to the recuperacoon, reaching out a hand to smooth back your hair, "You nearly died.  You freaked _me_ out."

            You're not used to Kanaya dropping her creepy-elegant rainbowdrinker persona, and so now that she is, you don't know how to respond.  She doesn't seem to mind your silence, though; she just pets your sopor-slick hair and glows at the perfect level.  You remember drinking her blood, and you wonder if that's some kind of creepy bonding ritual for rainbowdrinkers, if you're now her mindslave or something.

            "Despite my demeanor," Kanaya says, "I care for you and your sister very much.  I hope that you can believe me enough to understand that I do not want to see either of you be hurt.  So, next time you decide to do something extremely foolish, please bring me along so that I can at least properly admonish you."

            "Sure thing," you say, and though you're starting to notice the fact that you're pressing your head into her hand, more than the other way around, you can't bring yourself to care.  You're so comfortable and numb and sleepy.

            You wake up without realizing you fell asleep some time later, and Kanaya is nowhere to be seen.  Vantas isn't curled in the recuperacoon with you, either, which disappoints you in a way you don't want to examine.

            Captor is on his husktop.  He tilts his head when you hook your arms over the edge of the recuperacoon, looking at you (you think), and then he just shrugs his shoulders a little and looks back to his screen.

            "You're awake," he says.

            "Yep," you say.

            "It's been three and a half nights," he continues, acting as though you hadn't spoken, "It took us a while to get a hold of K.N. and get her out here for you."

            You push your hair out of your eyes and blink at him.  You realize you don't have your shades - you lost them during the fight, didn't you? - but you can't even bother to care right now.  After all, the dirty secret's out now.  "Anyone following us?"

            "Not as far as we know," Captor says, and now he looks at you, eyes narrowed and you can see the energy sticking up the hairs on the back of his neck.  You can also see his shoulder blades even more clearly than before.  You don't know why.  "You gave me and K.K. so much shit for being who we are, and you had this half-breed freakiness hidden away?  I wouldn't have suspected you to be a fucking hypocrite on top of being a complete and utter waste of resources."

            Despite the venom in his tone, you can hear the tremor of someone trying to save face after something awful.  You're used to hearing it in your own voice, so it's not hard to pick up in others.

            "Yeah," you say, "I kept that shit on the down-low.  Just like you guys did."

            "You didn't think it was something worth _telling us_?"

            You shrug your shoulders and hang your arms over the edge, letting the sopor support you as much as it can.  "You didn't tell me about your shit.  Why the fuck would I tell you about mine?"

            "But you still _found out_ ," Captor snaps, and there's more energy.  You can't tell if he's pissed that you hid it from him, or if he's pissed that he didn't figure it out on his own.

            "From Vantas.  I don't have people who tell my secrets," you say, "Saves me the trouble of having assholes find out about them."

            Captor stares at you to the point where you feel mildly uncomfortable.  Then, he shakes his head and stands.

            "I'll go find K.K., he wanted to talk to you."

            "What, that's it?"  You start to go through the motions of getting out of the recuperacoon.  "I thought the hate was really getting black up in here.  You're leaving me hanging, man."

            Captor doesn't bother to look at you beyond a glance back before he starts up the stairs.  You expect him to leave without another word, but he pauses just before the staircase turns out of sight.

            "You don't have people who tell your secrets, sure," he says, finally, turning to face you on the steps as you haul your sopor-soggy ass out of the recuperacoon.  You sit on the edge and look back up at him.  "But you don't have people to tell them to, either.  At least I have K.K. - you don't even have that.  That might make you pathetic, but right now, I don't have the energy to care, much less use it to my advantage."

            You don't have any retort for that, so he leaves with the last word under his arm.  You scowl at the stairs, as if that'll reveal the right comeback for you, but nothing changes.

            You dry off and get dressed alone.

            By the time you feel ready to tackle the stairs, though, you hear the hidden door at the top slide open.  You feel suddenly quarantined, like you aren't allowed to go up top and face everyone like a man.  Kind of like a freak hidden down in the cellar.

            You scowl and look for a spare set of glasses.

            "Strider, what in the ever-loving fuck did you think you were doing, your form was fucking sloppy and you nearly died because you couldn't just look both fucking ways like a basic school-taught wiggler would know to do when running from fucking drones!"

            Vantas doesn't let you respond as he takes the last three steps at once, hopping down and staring at you and your newly-found sunglasses.  They're comfortable enough, though a little differently framed, but they keep your eyes hidden and make you feel safe.  If you're going to be stuck in the fucking basement, at least you're going to do it on your terms.

            "Take those stupid things off, they're not fooling me."

            "Nah," you say, picking up a hand-towel to scrub your hair clean of sopor.  That's the one good thing about it; it's kind of watery, enough that it's not hard to get off.

            "Seriously, you fucking asshole, I don't need you wearing the fucking shades around me."

            "You already know I'm a freak, dude, what does it matter if you keep seeing my fucked up eyes?  Like, seriously, these aren't hurting you or anything.  If I'm gonna get put into captivity and shit like this, I'm gonna do it on my own terms."

            You don't notice it at first, but when you fix your eyes on Vantas's face, you can see that he looks completely fucking flabbergasted.  You quickly bend over to scuff up your hair.

             "The fuck are you talking about?"

            "I'm quarantined, right?  For whatever reason, until you guys can figure out how to get out of here without tipping me off about where you're going.  It's one thing to be a mutant, you can kind of get around that, and being AWOL is pretty easy to hide, but my shit?  Yeah, don't think so."

            You wring out the last of your hair and then straighten up.  What you don't expect is for Vantas to be right in front of you, and for him to snatch your sunglasses away with a move so vicious and quick that his nails scratch your temple.

            "Dude, what the fuck!"

            "Shut the fuck up, you misguided, moronic piece of complete and utter shit, and listen to me for five goddamn seconds before I punch you right across the mouth to give you something else to do with your flapping jowls other than run it like a broken load gaper."

            "Man, and I thought Captor was black for me-"

            Vantas punches you right across the mouth and you go down.  You probably would have handled it better at full form, but he didn't pull his punch and you don't have all the stability and health that you normally do, so you just kind of slump into the ground and stare up at him.  He tosses your shades aside.

            "I fucking told you to shut up.  For fuck's sake, _stop_ already.  Nobody's quarantining you.  For your information, I waited up there for thirty fucking minutes to see if you'd come up on your own, and then when you didn't, I figured you were probably having trouble moving around after being _nearly fucking dead_ for three straight nights, so I was going to fucking help you.  Nobody's trying to leave you behind, _especially_ now that we know that you're just as fucked as us."

            Vantas has that same angry look on his face as he did when he'd caught you holding Captor down during his fit.  You don't like it.  You also don't like not having your shades to keep your reactions more neutral.  Your brother had always taught you that, on top of hiding your eyes, they'd hide your reactions.  And that was a good thing.  You'd liked that.

            "I want my shades back," you say.

            "Why, so you can pretend that you're not as much of a freak as me?  Or because you think I can't see right through the bullshit apathy act you throw around like the overcompensating defense mechanism it really is?  Because I'm not really up to letting you do either of those things, Strider."

            You open your mouth to respond, but there's murder in Vantas's eyes, even as he kneels down in front of you.  His shoulders are tense and he looks like a snake ready to bite your head off.  "You might think you're doing yourself favors by not having any friends, by being an apathetic waste of space, but you're fucking not.  You have to realize that, dude, _look at you_.  You're assuming that Sollux and I are going to bail on you just because you're not some normal human?  If that was the case, don't you think we would have left you the second we saw your eyes and your teeth?"

            "My teeth?"  When the fuck did this asshole get a look at your mouth?  Did they do some kind of fucking examination to make sure they weren't hallucinating, or something?

            "You were talking a lot more than usual," Vantas admits, almost reluctantly, "I never really noticed it, but yeah, you've got the triple-canines, it's a pretty good indicator of mixed blood in a human lineage.  Which is why you don't talk a lot, I guess.  Helps with the apathy thing, too, I bet.  Nobody thinks you give a shit because you don't talk, and you don't talk because you can't afford to show your fangs off."

            You don't know why, but you feel a little like you did when you were lying on the concrete, bleeding out.  Vantas's expression softens, suddenly, and you realize that without your shades, he can see exactly how you're feeling.  You spent so much time with them on, you never quite got how to sort yourself without them.  Especially when you're still not at your best.

            "And I don't _care_ ," he says.  "I'm not going to leave you behind just because you're fucking weird, Strider, especially after you stuck with me."

            "I didn't stick with you," you say, "I just didn't give a shit."

            "Don't even fucking try that bullshit," Vantas snaps, "Nobody manages to not give a shit while hacking into military databanks in order to find out how to hotwire a cruiser.  Just - _stop_ , okay.  I'm giving you compliments, alright.  I'm trying to reassure you that Sollux and I aren't leaving you behind.  We didn't then, we aren't now.  You didn't, and now I'm going to fucking well return the favor."

            You don't know how to take that.  You know that Vantas is intending for you to just buy into his bullshit, but you don't.  Can't.  Whatever.

            "Then what's the plan?" you ask instead, trying to school your face.  It seems to be working, because Vantas gets this look, like he's frustrated or exasperated, and you figure it's probably because you're starting to stonewall him even without the shades hiding your bright red eyes.

            "We don't know," he says, and he sounds sincere.  "All we know is that we're tired of running.  And I'm tired of seeing people have to hide just because they're not what the Empire thinks it needs or wants.  I'm fucking sick and tired of that bullshit."

            There's a moment when he looks at you and you get that weird sensation again - like you want to get up and fight with this stupid, crazy fucking mutant, and if he were to leave you now, you don't know what you'd do.  It passes in a flash.

            He furrows his brow, questioning.  "Aren't you?"

            "Yes," you say, before you even realize you're saying it.  "Fuck yes, I am."

            "Then c'mon."  Vantas stands and holds a hand out to you, and you grab it and let him pull you up.  "We don't know what we're going to do yet, but we'll figure it out.  Until then, though - Kanaya said you were having problems yourself."

            "What?"

            Vantas shrugs, and you realize you need to let go of his helping hand.  So you do, casually, without worrying about it.  "With your, uh, sister, or whatever.  Sollux and I figured that, since you went out of your way to help us up until now, maybe we should return the favor."

            "I doubt Captor thought anything like that."

            "Nah, he probably thinks he can catch you off your guard or something if we're dealing with your shit instead of his."  Vantas heads towards the stairs, and you follow before he leaves you behind.  "Still.  You up for it?"

            "Fuck yeah."  You have to hold on to the railing as you ascend behind Vantas, but you keep moving and keep your legs as sturdy as you can.  "Let's go beat some fucking sense into my sister."


End file.
